


Arrest

by AngelinaVansen (catherineflowers)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineflowers/pseuds/AngelinaVansen
Summary: Back on Earth, Kathryn Janeway finds herself again.





	Arrest

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the early 2000s for the third Voyager Blue Alert contest.

She is looking at some paintings in a shop the first time she feels it. A strange feeling. She is not the Captain. She is not in control. A man in the shop just looked at her breasts as she bent to pick up one of her bags.

It has been so long since anyone looked at her breasts. She feels a rush of gratitude towards the man, a total stranger. So much so that she wants to run to him, throw herself into his arms, take him to bed. 

Her mind remembers sex then, for the first time in so long. The sensations of having a man inside her, holding him there while she breathes his breath. Hands on her breasts, a hot mouth on her nipple. Teeth. The thoughts flush her skin, and suddenly she is wet between her legs. She has to go home and touch herself.

Upstairs in the privacy of her bedroom, she comes well, muscles pulsing strongly as she pants through it. Afterwards, she feels fat and swollen with it. Radiant. Her cheeks glow all day.

And all the next day, wherever she goes, she imagines sexual intercourse. She looks at men from behind lowered lashes. Coquettish. She passes cafés and bars, thinks of going into them and making a pass at someone. Of getting a hotel room with one of them, dragging him up against her in the sticky summer heat, having his flesh pressed against hers. His hard penis inside her. She thinks about not being the Captain of Voyager any more.

She walks through streets, the skirt of her dress swishing about her legs, the sun on her skin. Her shining red hair. Her freckles. Suddenly it seems as if every pair of eyes is on her body. This goes on for weeks, driving her to distraction. An itch that can’t be scratched by her own hand.

In private, she stands naked in front of her mirror a lot. Stroking the line from her ribs to her hips. The curve. Cupping her breasts. Remembering the sensations, how it felt when it was Mark’s hands on her skin. Justin’s. Cheb’s. Jaffen’s. Michael’s. 

Men. Oh, God ... how she wants one.

She calls Chakotay, and he comes to visit her. Probably because he is familiar, and probably because he is an old ghost she needs to put to rest. She can’t let go of Voyager yet. Not that much. There’s still so much she has to work through before she considers herself acclimatised to life on Earth. 

They sit out in the garden at her little slatted table, sharing a pot of coffee, as though they were together in her Ready Room.

She watches him. He wanted her once. Are his eyes still lingering on her breasts? Does his pulse still quicken when she crosses her legs? It is so hard to tell if the pupils of those dark eyes are dilating when she licks her lips.

His fingers brush hers as she hands him his second cup. She imagines them brushing her clitoris and her face heats up. Her lips feel swollen. She is paralysed by him. This never happened to her on Voyager. She wonders what has happened to her to make her so susceptible to men. Chakotay’s masculinity is washing over her like a living force. Never has she felt so pulled.

He looks at her darkly, and she sees it. Yes, this was what he was hoping for. Hoping for it when she called, when she invited him. Hoping for it since the moment Voyager returned. Before that, too, for years. He has never been immune to her. She has always been attractive.

In three seconds she is on him. White thighs open, legs around both him and the chair, fully clothed. 

His mouth is hot, his breath on her face panting promises, declarations. She presses a kiss from him, eating his mouth, her own mouth burning from the sweet and the spice of him. His tongue is a silky counterpoint to the grit of his stubble, grinding into her chin. She thinks of nothing, this is mindless.

Hands on her breasts, full palms squeezing. The heat of his skin right through her dress and bra. Her hands are on his head, on his face, holding him. She inhales deeply, through her nose, pulling him into her, every part of him. She wants to enclose him, to enfold him. She wants to remember what it feels like to be a sexual woman.

This is not the kind of love that nice, civilised Starfleet people make in the 24th century. This is not the kind of love she made with Mark. Chakotay is biting her nipple, getting to her breast through a tiny gap in the buttons of her dress. The pressure between their hips is unbelievable. She thinks she is going to come. 

She wants to go to her bedroom now.

He crushes her in his huge arms as he carries her up the stairs, and their mouths don’t part the whole way. The hot breath coming from his nostrils blows hard across her cheek and his fingers ripple on her skin. He is playing her like a flute.

She feels so free, so abandoned. She can’t wait for him to see her naked. She wants him to see it all in its imperfect glory, all the unevenness, the lumps, the bumps, the white pale skin against his bronzed, muscular beauty. She wants him to see how fallible she was all along. How she was always human. She can’t wait to show him how she was always faking it.

She strips herself down to her underwear, lets him drop her knickers to her ankles himself, jerks at the odd sensation of his tongue across her clitoris. It’s been a long time since she had this. Justin, in fact. She is mortified and gratified and pleasured all at once. He laps at every portion of her sex, hands gripping her hips, and she doesn’t cry out. Only sways against him, hissing, holding his shoulders, letting him eat her whole. She is only a woman. Only human.

Then she is worshipping his body, his glorious maleness, breathing and drinking in his scents and his tastes as he reclines on the sheets of her bed. She sweeps over him, mouth open, tongue darting out leaving little wet trails, tasting every one of his muscles, the hardness of them, the salt of his skin. Her hair trails around after her, and he seems to love this, groaning and making sweet faces of pleasure as she moves.

He has a line of hair from his bellybutton to his groin that prickles her as they roll into position. She is delighted. He is mounting her! Her breath comes in short, excited pants. She feels like an animal.

She spreads around him. What must he be thinking? Captain Janeway is a woman, she spreads her legs when she has sex! She must be very exciting to him. He nestles in, guiding himself with his hand until he has pushed in partway, and then letting his hips do the rest.

She gasps and bites her lip. Holds him, hugs him in arms and legs and with her vaginal walls. Such a beautiful act. She lets him kiss her, listens to his declarations of eternal love, but feels strangely removed from them. All she feels is the pulse of him, deep inside her. All she feels is the thrill of being filled.

She cries out with joy as his fingers bring her to a climax. Oh, how long ... she hasn’t felt so free since before Voyager. She kisses him and tastes his mouth with hers. It is hot and sticky and swollen with his lust. He tastes very male.

She moves under him, scraping his back with her nails, pushing against him with the sucked, wet points of her nipples. She arches, and wriggles her curves. Winds her legs about him sinuously. She is the female. 

He grunts, and his eyes aren’t focused any more. He is letting go. She brings her legs even tighter around him as he shudders and clasps her. She is being held. She dips her head into his neck while he is spurting into her, licks a line up his jaw to his cheek to his tattoo. Absorbed. Everything she needs.

He lies beside her. Cooling. He smells yeasty, of his own sperm, and musky, of her wetness. Her thighs are slick and she is sweating and flushed. He is looking at her. Hungry. He wants the emotions too, obviously. He wants the devotion. She has the feeling he would die to hear her say she loved him.

She gets up and stands in the streaming sunshine of her window. Looking out over Bloomington Indiana naked, the strawberries of his lovebites already up on her neck and breasts. She feels different, but it isn’t Chakotay. It isn’t the sex. Maybe she feels full at last. Maybe she feels at home again in Kathryn’s skin.


End file.
